


the disappearance of [REDACTED]

by hollypastl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Missing Persons, Post-Time Skip, i plan on hurting you all as much as I can, seriously a lot of ANGST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollypastl/pseuds/hollypastl
Summary: "MISSING: MIYA Y/N" It reads. Underneath is a picture of yourself. Age, height, weight. Everything important is listed. How embarrassing.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	1. love is so short. forgetting is so long

He wakes up painfully aware that your weight is missing from his arms. It’s a little unusual. Most mornings, you two end up dragging each other out of bed. He’s not a morning person and you’re more than content to occupy him with your entire body weight. The flutter of your breath on his face and the gentle, but firm way you play with his fingers is soothing. Eventually, responsible thought wins out and one of you will bribe the other with a hot shower or an omelette. Usually.

But not today. His feet land on the floor after a good horizontal stretch and Atsumu yawns. He squints at the clock. 10:24 AM. “Hey, babe? Didja screw with my phone?” He calls, getting up from bed and heading towards the kitchen.

There’s a muffin and a bottle of iced coffee sitting on the kitchen counter, which he hungrily digs into. A part of him is resigned and ready to get caught red handed, scarfing down something which _you were saving_ , but the second the banana flavor hits his tongue he knows it’s intended for him. Your distaste for the flavor is something even ‘Samu hasn’t been able to sway.

His eyes wander around the messy apartment you two share while he lazily munches away on his muffin and throws back the drink. Even through the mess, his gaze lands on a neatly folded slip of paper that’s stuck to the fridge with a Hello Kitty magnet. (And as much as he insisted to everyone ever invited over that _it was yours,_ you both knew it was his. A leftover remnant of his childhood collection of random festival prizes.)

It’s a reach from his seat at the counter to the fridge, but he makes it without standing up or tipping over his chair. The coffee still slips from his grip and shatters on the floor.

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

The safety hazard is ignored as he forces himself to reread it slower.

You’ve signed your name at the bottom, but the ink is blurred. It’s just a single drop, and he’s always known you to shed tears at the drop of a hat. He wonders what could’ve restrained you to not have wet stains all over the page.

It’s a joke.

It has to be.

The wedding ring on his finger suddenly feels tighter, like his blood flow is being constricted.

Your phone number is his first call. 

He doesn’t know what he expects, but the vibrations of your phone on the table by the front door isn’t it. Whatever. Move on. He calls your parents house, but they haven’t heard from you. And you’re not at work either. In fact, when the boss gets on the phone, he explains he got a text early this morning that you quit out of the blue.

A myriadic list of other people to question is filling up in his head but he can’t quite bring himself to call.

The Jackal’s manager is buzzing him next. It’s rude, but he sends him straight to voicemail. Who cares that he’s late to practice?

He’s much too busy wondering where you’ve disappeared to.

Which is how he ends up nervously twiddling his thumbs in a police precinct.

The officer is rude. Actually, he’s not. He just thinks the guy is being a jackass because he’s not being particularly helpful.

 _“We’ll be happy to search for signs she was taken against her will, but judging by the note she left and that you found no signs of a break-in, it sounds like she left of her own volition.”_ And the absolute gut punch of, _“Miya-san… Are you sure she didn’t run off with another man?”_

He can’t wrap his head around it. The detective recognizing him barely makes him feel better. _“Miya… MiyA-SENSHU? We’ll have our best investigators on this, I promise you! Can I get you a cup of coffee? Did you walk here? Someone will drive you home.”_

He watches absently as the officer who drove him back pokes around the apartment. Pictures are snapped and locks are inspected. Your hairbrush is bagged as DNA evidence and Atsumu silently notices your sneakers and his favorite hoodie gone from the closet.

It doesn’t seem real. You should be on your lunch break right now, sending him a text or even calling to ask if he wants to go visit his parents next week.

When the man finally leaves, Atsumu’s pocket starts buzzing once again.

His breath catches when it turns out to be your phone and not his. The number isn’t listed and he stops breathing entirely at that. A desperate part of him hopes you’re on the other end of the line as he brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“This is Kitano Medical Imaging Center, I have information regarding scans for Miya Y/N.”

“She’s-” He chokes from the lack of air. Isn’t breathing supposed to be something he doesn’t have to think about anymore? “She’s not available at the moment. M’her husband though, I can pass it along.”

They’re silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, but I’m unable to release medical information to anyone but the patient at this time. Thank you and good day, sir.”

He chews on his bottom lip at that. The hell did that mean? What name had they given? Kitano? Osaka General was closer.

And what about these scans you had gotten done? 

Knocking at his door busts him out of his head. What was it now? He considers ignoring it but, “C’mon, open up ‘Tsum-tsum!” Bokuto isn’t one to be easily discouraged.

But the shattered glass still lying on his kitchen floor steals his attention and mutes the shouting, if only slightly. Bokuto will have questions that Atsumu doesn’t care to or just doesn’t have the answers to. Instead, he lets his teammate tire himself out while he sits at the kitchen counter, staring blankly at the hazard he has yet to clean up.

He shows up to training half an hour early the next morning, getting a headstart on lat pull-downs before anyone else has even arrived. The team trickles in slowly and it would be a lie to say he didn’t notice the little glances they keep giving him. Everyone is on edge and the scowl marring his face probably doesn’t help the mood.

_“Whaddya’ mean it’s written all over m’face?” He frowned, shouldering his bag._

_“Atsumu.” Even though your back was to him, he could tell you were rolling your eyes as you locked up the gym. “You’re chronically easy to read.”_

_“Am not!”_

_You rested a hand on your hip, narrowing your eyes. “C’mon, I think it’s cute how you wear your heart on your sleeve,” The door clicked shut and you swung around, keys and lanyard in hand. “If you want, I’ll let you in on the secret of how I mastered my poker face.” You offered, elbowing him._

_“Hah! Yeah, right! Last week ya cried when Kita-senpai said ya weren’t good at cleanin’ water bottles.”_

_It was true, you had burst into tears. “Please. Fake crying is a much more advanced skill. I’m talkin’ about a good ‘ole blank and neutral expression—”_

_“Wait, ya mean ya did that on purpose?” He threw an incredulous look your way._

_You rolled your eyes once more. He was so naive. “Senpai did end up washing the whole crate for me, didn’t he?”_

_Atsumu stared at you, jaw slack._

_“Atsumu?” You waved a hand in front of your face._

“Atsumu, you good?”

“Huh?”

“I asked why you went AWOL yesterday.” Meian’s brow furrowed and Atsumu forced out an answer he had decided hours ago.

“Just a family issue, sorry I didn’t get the chance to call, man.”

He could almost hear your voice now, congratulating him on keeping cool. He feels sick. Like a kid who’s eaten too much for their lil’ stomach to handle and is about to vomit all over the floor. That exact thing had happened to ‘Samu once. It was someone’s birthday in their middle school class —he couldn’t remember who— and the idiot had eaten five pieces of cake while nobody was looking.

It wouldn’t have been a problem on it’s own. The glutton wouldn’t dare waste food by throwing it up. The problem came when he washed it all down with spiked punch.

The class had gotten in so much trouble for that. 

Nobody had seen it happen and the culprit wouldn’t come forward. The entire class was forced to endure cleaning duty for a month and they were banned from participating in the sports festival. He had been so pissed. 

Now it’s just a bad memory in the bad of his mind. Thoughts absentmindedly trailing back to you, (like they always seem to) he wonders where you had been during that incident. You hadn’t been friends with him yet. He didn’t even know your first name at that point. But you had been in his class. He distinctly remembers arbitrarily voting you for class rep because you were pretty.

And, now that he really thinks about it, he remembers seeing your arm slowly rise.

_“It was me. I did it. It was a really bad joke and I’m sorry.”_

He’d been sitting a couple rows behind you, so he couldn’t see the look on your face, but he knew it must’ve been painted with shame.

Nobody believed you. Without missing a beat, the assistant principal had kindly told you it was noble to try and take the fall. Your friend had tugged on the edge of your skirt, beckoning for you to sit down. Just like that, it was over. He’s surprised he can recall it. The whole thing, start to finish, must’ve been less than fifteen seconds. He doubts anyone else remembers but you.

He considers your words from back then. How you had said it was just a bad joke. 

His immature ass, having stomach pains from laughing so hard, would beg to differ. Your jokes never fall flat. 

He finishes his set and moves to the leg press.

Desperately, he needs to believe the past twenty four hours have been a joke. That you just left to visit a friend, or needed some space. But the items on the list keep adding up.

His eyes start tearing up and he wipes the sweat from his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like picturing atsumu sad and broken. wth is wrong with me *kitschy synth music plays*


	2. you will live and die for them because that's you way

Osamu is still as a statue as he processes what his brother’s just told him.

It doesn’t seem real.

“That doesn’t make any— No. I know you’re you and she’s her, but you two are…” He trails off and starts wiping down the bar again. It’s a nervous habit Osamu picked up sometime when he wasn’t watching. “I mean... last week she didn’t act like anything was—”

Atsumu is busy reeling from his brother almost(?) complimenting his relationship that he almost misses it. “Last week?”

He nods. “Yeah, the stall was packed at the Friday game… She jumped in and manned the register so the rest of us could work on finishing orders.”

“Last week, though? You’re positive?”

He nodded.

“You saw her?”

_From your usual court side seats, you could hear shoes squeaking and players panting. The thirty second row just wasn’t the same. At the same time, watching the game from a birds eye view gave you a new perspective and appreciation._

_You leaned forward and locked on to Sakusa for the serve that would start the set. Your cheek sunk into your hand as his serve shot almost straight into the floor if not for a quick save by Komori that he bounced with only a single arm._

_Someone across the way whooped and your eyes darted side to side as the ball hopped in the air and the setter shot a quick toss through the air. Your eyes landed on the spiker it was hurtling towards. From this far away, it was impossible to see, but you knew Suna well enough. Right now he was probably thinking something like,_ ‘There’s a three man block in front of me, is there really any use in jumping? I’m not gonna land a point anyway, so I might as well conserve my energy.” _Still, he leaped for all he was worth and dinked it with his freakishly long fingers at the last second._

_“Woohoo!” You screeched. Ignoring the fans who turned around to frown at you. Understandable. Why were you sitting in the MSBY Black Jackals section and dressed in black and gold merch if you were gonna cheer for the other damn team? You glare right back at them and slurp on your empty drink. The action only reminds you that you’re kind of hungry._

_Inunaki bumps it back up all the same. Not surprising considering how slow and weak dinks are, but you gasp and groan aloud with the rest of the fans when Atsumu immediately tries to dump the ball back over the net. The play is messy and his hands are easy to read. Suna springs back up and spikes it down before the two even have a chance to tussle over it._

_The buzzer rings and the EJP Raijin are awarded the point._

**“Now that’s a failure of a setter dump if I ever saw one. Not what you usually expect from a player like Miya.”**

**“He does seem to be off his game today— oh, and there it is. Coach Foster is subbing in another player.”**

**“It’s only the second set, and the Jackals did take the first. There’s plenty of time for him to cool off and get back on the court to show us some of his monster serves.”**

_The commentators switch to talking about the serving skills of the various players at today’s game, which you don’t bother to stick around for. You did come to see Atsumu, after all. No point in staying if he’s not on the court._

_You gather your hair in a low ponytail and tie it back, put your jacket back on, and make sure you have your wallet and phone still. All secure._

_The stadium isn’t one you’re used to, so you refer to the map in the concrete hallway. The exit closest to the station is the north one and you’re at the southeast. It’s only when you turn to go that you realize you don’t know whether to go left or right._

_“Well, it is just a giant circle,” You mutter. “Doesn’t really matter which way.”_

_From further inside, you can hear the buzzer go off one, two three times, signaling the end of the set. “That was quick.” The halls flood immediately and you’re forced to slow down and trudge through, rather than hyperwalk like you usually would. This whole trip is turning out to be one inconvenience after another. Atsumu is off his game. You’re hungry. People in this crowd keep bumping into you._

_“Hey lady, get in line like the rest of us.” One asshole grunts and you reflexively scowl at him and the five brats he’s with. It drops from your face. If you had to deal with five kids under the age of ten all by yourself, you’d be grumpy too._

_“Sorry, m’bad.” Curious, (and still hungry) you check what it is they’re in line for. Immediately, you’re in a better mood. Skirting the line, you hop over the gate and swipe some onigiri right out of the display box._

_“Oi! What the hell are you— Oh, [y/n].”_

_“Hey there, stranger! Fancy meeting you here.” In two massive, disgusting, and arguably impressive bites, you swallow the onigiri (which is in no way, bite sized) and pluck the baseball cap off his head._

_“Hiii, welcome to Onigiri Miya, what can I get for you today?” You ask, pulling your ponytail through the hat and bumping your hip with Osamu’s. The old man isn’t all that disturbed by the abrupt change in cashier and prattles on a list of items long enough to feed a battalion. You’re quick to click it into the POS and nod your head to the order printer that’s situated further back in their makeshift workstation. “I’ve got this. Go do your thing.” He rubs his hat hair sheepishly. He wasn’t planning on taking it off today. "Here's your receipt, sir. Please pick up your order at the station to your left. Good afternoon, it’s lovely to have ya here at Onigiri Miya, whatcha cravin’?”_

“That’s it? What else did she say? Where’d she go after? When did she leave?” Atsumu’s hands buried themselves in his hair, practically pulling it out by the roots.

“I don’t know! Um… The rush came after the second set, I think? N’she left right after. I assumed she just went back in ta watch the game!”

“But she didn’t say anything weird?”

“No! We were so busy I barely said two words to ‘er!” Osamu had never seen his brother look so frantic. 

“I’m going back to the police.” He rasped out.

— — — 

At the station, Detective Kano looks over your file.

**CASE: Missing Persons**

**FULL NAME: Miya [y/n]**

**BIRTHPLACE: Sapporo**

**CURRENT RESIDENCE: Osaka**

Looking at it plainly, the answer is clear. As much as his subordinate and your husband don’t want to believe it, you’ve left. Nobody took you or forced you. The reason could be anything. You got bored or felt stifled in your marriage, (it did say you two had gotten married at twenty. That’s awfully young to make a lifelong commitment) you met another man, (always a possibility) or it could be that you were running for your life from an abusive piece of shit. Your case wouldn’t be the first like that and nor would it be the last. He didn’t care how ‘worried’ your husband appeared to be. For all he knew, the bastard could just be worried about people finding out and it ending his career.

"Oi, Tanigashi.” He barked. The rookie’s head shot up. “We find any bodies in the past couple days?”

“Time frame?” She asked, already typing away.

“Last seen on Tuesday, the fourteenth”

“Male? Female? What else, ya gotta help me out here.”

“Twenty two year old female.”

She hummed. “Tourist?”

He shook his head. 

“Is she a short emo meets Harajuku model typa person?” She sighed, turned the monitor in his direction.

He sighed. “Nope. Sorry fer wastin’ your time. Get back to work.”

“Detective?” The office secretary popped his head in the door. “The statements you ordered just came in. Should I print them out for you?” 

“Yeah, thanks kid.” Kano heaved himself out of his seat and cracked his bones. Years on the force and keeping up with full contact Karate were starting to get to him. Maybe he should take his daughters advice and take up Tai Chi or Yoga. 

He crinkles open a wrapper and pops the gum in his mouth, reading the evidence as it’s freshly warm off the machine.

The bank statements aren’t anything out of the ordinary. You’ve withdrawn everything from your personal account. The joint account has been left alone. He jots down a note. ‘Set financial alert for suspicious activity.’

This way he’ll know if one of you tries to remove the other from the account. Again, he noted that you hadn’t withdrawn anything from the joint. As his spouse, you were legally entitled to it. And with Atsumu’s fat check from three seasons of pro sports under his belt, it wasn’t like he would miss a little bit all that much.

If anything, it told the detective that you didn’t hate him. Had you wanted him to suffer, it would be easy to empty the accounts and leave him broke. 

“Rule’s out abuse.” He mumbles. Unless you were afraid of retribution should he find you. Though with how thorough you were being, (phone left behind. bank account empty. social media untouched) something told him you didn’t have any plans to be found.

Kano sighs, flipping through more pages and organizing them as he goes.

“This just gets more and more complicated.” He stops. “Hey, kid. Where’s the health report?”

He paled, worried he had missed something. “Ummmmmmmmm.” His fingers click across his email. “Looks like the hospital needs a formal report before releasing any information. Sorry, I’ll get right on that.”

— — — 

Tucked away behind more wealthy and more flashy neighborhoods, hidden and huddled by a ring of trees, the only way you could ever know the Miya household was there was if you had been there before.

Which you had.

Ducked below a hill off the main road, it’s a modest split level house which seemed a lot smaller when you were younger. Then again, it had been inhabited by both the boys, their mom, and all the people they attracted. Which happened to be a lot. Despite being more than a little rude, Atsumu and Osamu were always surrounded by people wanting to be their friend.

You park in the driveway and enter through the back door on the porch, which has been unlocked since you first started visiting when you were fifteen.

“Toyo! It’s [y/n]. You here?” You called, walking through the door. No answer.

You walked through the kitchen and down the six steps to the main level.

“Toyo? You in there?” Politely soft, but loud enough to be heard, you knocked on her door. Still nothing.

You swung the door open.

“To—” Surrounded by tissues, old bowls of food, and shivering, was Miya Toyo in all her glory. “Gosh.” You whispered. “I knew you were sick, but this is ridiculous.”

Quietly, you grabbed the heating pad in her nightstand drawer and plugged it in, setting it next to her on the bed. Then, gently pulling the covers up and smoothing them out. Not that it mattered. The woman slept like a rock. You wondered if she had always dealt with being sick like this: alone, with no one to care for her.

Then you were headed back towards the kitchen. The door to Toyo’s room was carefully shut. You didn’t want your noise to wake her up. On the way back, you shuddered. No wonder she was sick, she kept the house colder than an icebox.

You made a pit stop at the boy’s room, sliding open a closet door, grabbing a hoodie, and smelling it.

“Hmm… Yeah, that’s Atsumu.” You recognized and quickly pulled it on. The man threw a fit anytime you wore Osamu’s clothes, so you had learned to differentiate the two. You chuckled. That was one of the ways you had figured out he had a thing for you.

A second pair of socks was also stolen. Yours were much too thin to keep your toes from falling off. “Hmm hmmm. Hmm hm, hmmm hm.” You hummed absentmindedly as you switched on the kettle and searched through the pantry and fridge for ideas on what to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way I'm using my halfway finished criminology degree? Iconic. Would my professors be proud? Lmao probably not they expect so much more.
> 
> Also wtf I'm also writing a bokuto fic and they could not be more polar opposites. Deadass, y/n be shakin her ass to the thong song in that fic. On the upside it's really nice to jump between the two fics when I get overwhelmed with the other


	3. your graceless heart

**_[y/n] 10:27pm: i’m heeeereeeee_ **

**_[y/n] 10:29pm: i said i’m here you asshole_ **

**_[y/n] 10:29pm: hurry tf up_ **

**_[y/n] 10:29pm: did you fall asleep_ **

**_[y/n] 10:29pm: i’m leaving if you don’t respond in the next 30 seconds_ **

_ With a painful squeak, the window slides open. “Wouldja shaddup?” He hisses. “Yer gonna wake up ‘Samu if ya keep buzzin’ my phone so much.” _

_ “Too fuckin’ late, asshole.” Osamu groans. You can hear him rolling over in bed and Atsumu disappears from view, courtesy of a pillow flying towards his face at light speed. _

_ You take over the spot he’d been occupying to pop your head in and lean over the windowsill. “Hey, how are you?” _

_ “Tired.” _

_ “Then go back to sleep, stupid ‘Samu.” The killer arm flies out again and this time the pillow lands. Atsumu’s head gives a sick crack against the drywall. _

_ You let out a low whistle. “Nice one.” _

_ He finally sits up and comes into view. “[l/n], right?” He’s obviously tired, and you feel kind of bad for waking him up. _

_ Your face quirks a performative smile, remembering that you do still have to respond. “The one and only.” You straighten your arms and hoist yourself up, over, and in through the window, taking a seat and holding out your hand to shake. “Hey, you don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you? It’d be kinda weird to call you Miya when I already call Atsumu, Atsumu. You can call—” _

_ Without warning, you shoot to the other side of the room and stick yourself to the wall. _

_ The door swings open. _

_ From where you stand, Osamu’s eyes connect with the person at the door, darting towards Atsumu for a split second. He realizes there could be big trouble really quick. His mom might be pretty chill, but having a random girl sneaking into their room? Does he realize that? He was suffering from brain damage at the moment. _

_ A silent conversation takes place between the brothers and their mom, who stands silently at the door. It kind of freaks you out, how you can see her shadow splaying out from the light in the hallway and not hear a sound. _

_ “Go to sleep.” She commands, slamming the door shut. _

_ A breath of relief leaves all three of them.  _

_ It swings back open. “Sorry fer slamming the door. G’night, love ya.”  _

_ “Love ya, too.” _

_ “Love ya, mom.” They chorus, slightly out of time with the other. When they speak in tandem like that, you can’t tell who’s voice is who’s. _

_ “And close the damn window; it’ll mess with the AC.”  _

_ The door clicks closed, the lights in the hall are flicked off, and footsteps walk away. _

_ You hop over to give Atsumu a hand up. He’s still sulking against the wall. “Like I was saying, you can call me [y/n].” You pat him on the shoulder, which is slightly awkward because the boy is so much taller than you. You wonder what their mom feeds them. Then you remember why you’re here in the first place. Seems like the trauma of almost getting caught redhanded was getting to you. _

_ “[y/n] can we hurry up and go?” Atsumu whispers in your ear. You’re not paying attention, you’re too busy rustling through their closet and dresser. _

_ “I’m kinda busy, right now. And we’ve got plenty of time. What difference is a few minutes gonna make?” You slide one drawer open after the other. “Eww. Teenage boy sock drawer.” Atsumu kicks it shut and you almost lose a finger in the process. You can’t see it, but intuition tells you he’s red in the face. _

_ “Do I even wanna know what you two are up ta?” Osamu drawls. _

_ “We’re breaking into an abandoned sweet potato farm.” You throw a different shirt at Atsumu. “Change into that.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because I said so, that’s why.” _

_ “I meant why are you breaking into an abandoned sweet potato farm?” Osamu corrected. You faltered. Why did their voices sound so similar? _

_ “The third years are planning a party to kick off summer break, but they need a location. We just need to check if it’s safe, and we’re in.” Your head shot back at Osamu and you ignored Atsumu stripping in the corner of your eye. The room was dark enough. “Wanna come?” _

_ “Uhh, I’ll pass.” He flops back down on his mattress with an audible  _ whump _ and throws the duvet over his head. _

_ You shrugged. “Suit yourself.” You turned to Atsumu, now dressed in a shirt that wasn’t cringy as hell. “Ready?” _

_ He was already lifting himself out the window and extending a hand to you. “Bye, Osamu!” You whisper-yelled. “Sleep well. I promise Atsumu will try to not wake you up when he gets back.” _

_ Outside, it was much brighter. From the light of the moon and stars, you could fully appreciate the scowl Atsumu directed at you. “What?” _

_ He shuts the window first, obviously struggling not to slam it. “Didja have to spend twenty minutes flirtin’ with my brother?” _

_ He’s already hiking his way up the hill that they called their front yard, probably looking for his bike. “Oh, was I? I didn’t even realize.” It takes you a second but you find it fallen in the bushes of his neighbor’s lawn. “Can you blame me? He’s pretty cute.” _

_ Atsumu sputters, yanking the handlebars from you. “Will ya stop teasin’ already?” _

_ He’s so easy to rile up. “I’ll have you know I’m never anything but truthful.” He swings his leg over the bike and checks the road.  _

_ “Hurry up and get on. Let’s go.” _

_ “Yeah, one sec.” Without warning, you stick your thumb and middle fingers in your mouth and whistle nice and quiet. Wouldn’t wanna wake the neighbors. _

_ The hair on the back of his neck shoots up and he waits a good thirty seconds for the lights to switch on in one of his neighbor’s houses. “WHAT THE HELL?” He whispers. When he looks back, you’re just tapping your foot and debating whistlin’ like a banshee again. _

_ “Just callin’ our friend.” _

_ “Wha—” _

_ Finally, a giant dog bounds up from the woods, surprisingly silent for his size. “Good boy, coming here.” You rub his face affectionately and finally sit yourself down on the back of the bike. “Taro, meet Atsumu. Atsumu, meet Taro. Taro-taicho, really, but he’s not militaristic about his title.” _

_ “Whydja introduce the dog first?” He grumbles, toeing the kickstand up. _

_ The bike jerks forward and you wrap an arm around Atsumu’s waist to balance yourself. It’d be inconvenient and uncool to fall off. A piece of dried jerky is also tossed to Taro with your free hand and you call for him to follow.  _

_ The air feels nice, breezing through your hair and tickling your skin. July heat has been unbearable, you’ve hated it ever since you were a child. But it felt nice with the sun being long gone. Even the crickets and cicadas relentless buzzing was oddly tolerable. Maybe you should make late night summer outings a habit. _

_ After twenty minutes of coasting up and down hills and towards their destination, Atsumu breaks your comfortable silence. “Yanno, this is kinda romantic.” _

_ “Huh?” _

_ “You. Me. Alone. Under the stars.” Objectively, he’s not wrong. Last time you heard, sneaking out with a boy in the middle of the night did fall under the spectrum of dumb high school romantic activities to engage in. You might have even entertained the thought of playing along if Atsumu hadn’t carelessly pointed it out. _

_ “Don’t forget about Taro.” You reminded. “Or that I wanted your dreamy brother to come along—” You fail to deliver the line flat and a laugh bubbles up. _

_ “Will ya stop with that?” He lurches forward and peddles twice as hard, putting his frustration into kinetic output. _

_ You cackle and lean against him. “C’mon, I can’t help it, Atsumu.” _

_ “Help what?” He sounds exasperated, like he regrets even agreeing to this whole adventure in the first place. _

_ “Making fun of you whenever you try to flirt with me.” _

_ He scoffs. “M’not flirtin’ with ya! That’s just how I am!” _

_ “M’kay.” You hum. You don’t buy it for a second. “Well, that’s just how I am too.” _

_ “Fine.” He huffs. _

_ “Fine.” You mirror his tone and he isn’t sure if you’re teasing him again or not. “Turn here.” _

_ “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” He swerves to the left and you let out a short whistle to alert Taro. Just because you’re feeling extra nice tonight, you toss the dog another piece of jerky, which he leaps in the air to catch. _

_ “Hey, want some jerky?” You’re already pulling apart a nice, soft piece for him. You’ll feed the tough bits to Taro. _

_ “You mean the stuff you’ve been feedin’ the dog?” _

_ “It’s for humans, too.” It definitely wasn’t. _

_ He thinks it over for a second. “Only if you feed it to me.” _

_ Oh, the stuff that just pours out of his mouth. Does he think before he speaks? You’ll miss hearing it someday. Just to play along, you let your breath catch. It’s just loud enough for him to hear. _

_ “C’mon, my hands are busy, just give it here.” He argues, turning his head slightly so you can see his mouth but he can still see the road. _

_ “‘Kay.” You pop the meat in his mouth. “Huh.” You stare at your fingers. _

_ He groans. “What now?”  _

_ “I’m just surprised you didn’t try to suck on my fingers or anything!” You explain. _

_ At that, you can feel him stiffen up immensely. “I—If anything, y—you’d be suuuuuh…” He trails off. _

_ But you know exactly what he wants to say. “I’d be…?” You almost miss the sign. “Oh, hey we’re here!” You bounce off the bike before Atsumu has a chance to stop, and run up to the gate. “Wow, lucky it’s only rusted shut.” You give it a few good kicks before the metal snaps open. “It would’ve been so annoying to lug my bolt cutters all the way back here. Hey, you’ve got your tetanus shot, right?” You shoot over your shoulder. _

_ Taro beams ahead once he can wiggle through and you’re right behind, waving the flashlight on your phone around and picking your way through overgrown weeds. You’re glad you wore tights under your denim cutoffs or else your legs would be itching like crazy right now.  _

_ “Atsumu? You coming?”  _

_ He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. He must be tired. It is almost midnight after all. After a moment, he follows after you. Even from several feet away, you can see his eyes drooping and the sluggishness in his step. Right, he did just bike forty minutes with you balancing behind him and not helping in the slightest. Not to mention your personality can be… grating. Or so you’ve been told. When he gets close enough, you offer your hand and he takes it without any fanfare. This old place is creepy as hell and he’s not gonna say anything to make you take it back.  _

_ To Taro, you direct three short whistles, signaling him to lead the way, but stay close. He picks his way through the field carefully and you follow dutifully behind. The fields are full of holes and pits, you’re again glad that you wore clunky hiking boots with ankle support over some flimsy sneakers. The LED light on your phone can only help so much.  _

_ “Should you be wavin’ that thing around?” Atsumu asks, voice low with trepidation. _

_ “What thing?” You ask.  _

_ “Yer flashlight.” He clarifies, halfway between a hiss and a sigh.  _

_ Your brow involuntarily furrows. Where had he gotten that idea? “Why? Kind of need it to see, ya’ know?” _

_ “But what if someone sees?” _

_ You stop in your tracks, drop his hand, and turn around. “There’s no one around for miles, Atsumu. Nobody’s gonna see.” _

_ “Then why are we even here?” _

_ “To check if it’s safe, I told you that.” _

_ “From what? Some old farmer’s ghost?” _

_ “When did I— Actually, you know what? That’s a good point. I didn’t think about the place being haunted.” Considering what you knew about the history of the property. You continued to mutter under your breath and swiped your phone on. Did you have a signal here? Could you download a ghost detector app? “Maybe I’ll just have to borrow one from the paranormal club at school. They owe me a favor, after all.” _

_ “Can you PLEASE stop rambling and tell me what we’re doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night?” His palms land on your shoulders. From the way his fingers dig into your skin, you’re glad he religiously clips his fingernails. _

_ “—”  _

_ He shakes you, roughly. “EXACTLY?”  _

_ You dropped your arm from where it was held in the air, trying to get a better signal for your phone. “We’re checking for bombs.” _

_ The annoyance in his expression drops and leaves you looking at… You didn’t really know what that emotion was. “What?” _

_ “I told you it was abandoned in the 40’s.” Maybe you hadn’t been clear enough when discussing it with Atsumu the day before. In your defense, it seemed pretty obvious. Why did he think there were people here? You had said it was abandoned. _

_ “You’re tellin’ me...” He sputters. _

_ You cock your head to the side. “I mean, why did you think I brought Taro?” _

_ His eyes dart behind you to where the dog is patiently waiting. _

_ “We’re leavin’.” Before you know it, Atsumu has a vice grip on your wrist and is dragging you back the way you came. But you can’t leave yet, you haven’t cleared the property. At the very least, you wanted to make it to the old farmhouse and see if the floorboards were safe for dancing! _

_ A sharp twist and tug of your wrist frees you for a split second, but his reflexes are quick, even when he’s not looking and it’s dark out. “Let go!” You whine. He doesn’t. Any attempts, physical or emotional, are useless. You’re caught off guard by just how much stronger he is than you and you’re not sure what makes it more infuriating: that you’re weak, or that you’re stupid for not knowing. _

_ Taro barks and your eyes widen. On instinct you grab the arm Atsumu’s dragging you with and throw your entire weight back. By the grace of the gods, it’s just enough to send him stumbling back and you both topple over in the thistle. _

_ “Owwwww.” You moan, already second guessing yourself. There are thorns digging into every inch of your skin and Atsumu’s bony elbow has planted itself in between your vital organs. _

_ Slowly, he lifts himself up. “What the hell was that for?” By now, Taro has bounded over and is shoving his nose in your face. He growls when Atsumu extends a hand.  _

_ “Taro, heelAHHH!” One after the other, you take the proffered hand up, tell Taro off, and rise up. Except when you put weight on your ankle, it screams in protest. Tears prick your eyes and you grip onto Atsumu for support. You feel bad for him. Your nails probably hurt. _

_ “Don’t step back.” You warn, remembering at least that through the pain searing itself up your leg. _

_ He shifts his weight and Taro barks a warning again. “Is he barking because of the…” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ From your spot hanging onto him, you can hear his heart beating faster and faster. It wasn’t a situation you were familiar with. Should you just tell him not to be scared? But that tactic never worked for you in the past. _

_ He’s the first one to work up some courage and kick his mind back in gear. “Can you walk?” _

_ You test it, setting some weight on your heel. Probably not as carefully as you should have because you hiss in pain. _

_ “I’ll take that as a no.” He sighs, gingerly turning around and crouching down, listening for Taro’s warning the whole time. “Hop on.” You comply. “Taro-taicho? Lead the way.” _

_ The dog stares Atsumu down while you bury your face in his back. You’re so angry. At what? You’re not quite sure. Definitely not Atsumu. It’s not his fault. Then again, why did he get so mad anyways? It’s not like you were purposefully— That’s a lie. Abandoned farm from the 40’s wasn’t specific enough. Even with the additional context of your bomb sniffing hound. You let him assume and from how quiet he’s being, he’s pissed. You would be too if the roles were reversed. _

_ Vaguely, you process him helping you back onto the bike, giving his shoulder for you to hang onto. The person you’re mad at is yourself. _

_ “Why’re ya snifflin’?”  _

_ If this were a movie, your tears would be shining in the moonlight as the wind whipped them off your cheeks. But it isn’t and you’re glad he’s not looking at you. _

_ “I’m sorry.” You choke out. Your throat is closing up and they’re the first words you can think of. “Are you mad at me?” They’re whispered as loud as you can make them, but you can’t put any real force behind them because the frog in your throat is getting bigger by the second. The atmosphere is nerve wracking. His answer can’t come quick enough because your mind is already jumping to different, more effective, ways to apologize. What should you do? How do you make it up to him? You’ve never been good at gift giving. Was running an option? Let him take you home and then lock the door before he can say anything. Delete his phone number and ignore him at school.  _

_ The manipulative bitch inside you wonders if giving him a piece of yourself would suffice. Would he even want it? He sure spoke like he did. Sometimes. How far would be enough? A kiss? On the cheek, or lips? How long? What if he wanted more?  _

_ He had asked before. Half joking, half serious. Unwilling to commit. Back then, your rejection had been painless. The both of you laughed immediately after and went back to normal.  _

_ But that was then and this is now. 'Now' is painful and suffocating. It's a shot in the dark, but maybe the opposite action would give you room to breathe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend was texting me as i was finishing this chapter up and she's like "oh can I read it?" and im... so teary eyed emoji rn guys wtf?? She doesn't even watch Haikyuu and now she's gonna start it I feel so blessed.
> 
> On a side note this fic is starting to develop monster plot in the google doc i'm planning it in and ya girl might need to consider getting a beta. how I go about doing that is another question... ahh the troubles of life.
> 
> Also I started naming the chapters! If y'all can guess where they come from (NO GOOGLE) you get a gold star


	4. that’s not what it means to be honey and glass

A week later, there’s still nothing. He’s gone over it all with Detective Kano. Interviews with friends, neighbors, coworkers. Every post you’ve made in the last two years, even the ones you’ve since deleted. Your cellphone records. Nothing is out of the ordinary. 

Osamu’s interaction with you had given him hope. You went out of your way to watch his out of town game, in person, after leaving your note. It was jolting, realizing that. He wonders if you’re still watching him now. Close by, but too far away for him to reach. 

Whenever he calls Detective Kano (which, based on his call history, is erring into creepy territory), he tries to wriggle even more information out of the man. It pays off. Turns out, after hours and hours of picking through CCTV footage, they found you. 

You’re surreal. 

From the audience camera’s you’re just a blip, but the intern doesn’t even have to point you out. There you are. Thirty second row. Watching him flail around on the court and still cheering when he manages to do something right. At one point you even get into a visible argument with the man behind you and brandish a finger in his face. He can’t hear you but— 

He couldn’t hear you. You’d been cheering for him, as loud as you always do, and he hadn’t heard. Why hadn't he just… paid attention? Why hadn’t he looked up for five seconds? You hadn’t even tried to hide from him! After you came back from helping Osamu, you’ve even got his old maroon Inarizaki hoodie thrown on! It wouldn’t have been hard to spot in a sea of black and gold! 

“So, what next? Can’t you use traffic cameras or something? Where did she go after she left?” 

Kano sighs and gives him a look. “This isn’t why we called you in today.”

_Oh._

“Based on her movement and behavior around the complex, the department has decided to close the case.”

His eye twitches. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s no evidence that [y/n] was kidnapped.”

“But… You can’t be— she wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think any man wants to believe it possible, but Miya-san… It might be time to start considering: she left you.”

“No. No, I love— We love each other.”

Something cracks in the Detective’s well made mask, the one he always uses for breaking bad news to families. His hand reaches for a pen on the other side of the table and he scribbles down a name and number. “Listen, there’s nothing more we can do here at the station. Concerning your wife’s disappearance, no crime was committed.” He slides the info over. “But if you really can’t give up yet, give this number a call.” He heaves himself up from his seat and lets his hand fall on Atsumu’s shoulder. “Think it over before you do. Wait a few days.”

— — —

He doesn’t know why he agreed. Scratch that. He knows exactly why. (He misses you)

“Otou-san!” He raps on the door a few more times. Taro keeps barking, angry that there’s an intruder and no one seems to be worried. He still can’t hear any movement inside. Out of curiosity, he turns the knob on the front door and sighs when it clicks open. Sure, the house was in the more rural parts of the suburbs, but that wasn’t any reason to not lock the door! 

He lets the door open an inch and gives the dog room to sniff him. The snarling barks simmer to a halfhearted growl that isn’t nearly as threatening.

“Otou-san, it’s Atsumu. Ya home?” He had to be. His car was in the driveway.

A snore bubbled up from the living room. More like an eruption than anything else, but he was trying to be polite. This was his father in law, after all.

Gently as possible, he gives the man a shake. It takes a few seconds for him to blink the sleep away. 

“Oh, Atsumu-san… I was resting my eyes, please forgive me. I thought you were coming on Thursday.”

Before he can even consider how to break the news, it spills out. “I know we talked a bit over the phone last week, but I need ta ask again. Ya haven’t seen or heard from [y/n], lately? She hasn’t called or visited?”

“I haven’t seen her. And she hasn’t called. What’s all this about?”

“[y/n] disappeared. I’ve got no idea where she is. The police say she left me an’ I’m… Also, it is Thursday.” He shakes his head, cursing his scattered thoughts. 

The older man chews on his lip, cracked and leathery. “I see.” Both are silent while the elder processes it, staring at some family photos on the wall. 

All Atsumu can think of is his own memories that he has here. You’re in all of them.

“Not even any calls from unknown numbers?”

He thinks it over and Atsumu almost asks if he can check the man's call history before remembering he doesn’t even have a cellphone. “No. Not at all. Then again, I’m not sure if I would expect her to… I’m not… I wasn’t there. She’s learned to be independent of me.” He pauses, attention drifting off topic again. “You know, I wanted you two to have this house, someday.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the least I could do for her. [y/n] never really liked me all that much, but she sure did love this house and the property. At least, she did before her mother died. She was never home after that.” He knew. Not at the time, but he had put it together later. Your mom died and in a matter of six months, you turned your entire life around. You joined the student council, made new friends, and gained a reinvented reputation as the girl everyone wanted to be friends with. 

That’s how you and him started out. At the dumb middle school get togethers they liked to call parties, where they blushed over Truth or Dare. You were always the one pushing people, clapping them on the back and egging them on, laughing the entire time. Going into high school, you’d been the pioneer to label their old games boring and made everyone graduate to Suck and Blow, Paranoia, and overly competitive Beer Pong tournaments. 

It wasn’t surprising, hearing your father say that you avoided your own house. He’d seen it first hand. In fact, he was the one that enabled you. Begged his mom to let you crash on his couch and looked the other way when he saw changes of clothes in your backpack. He wondered if his father in law knew it was his fault. 

Atsumu remembers that he was holding a conversation, dry and as it may feel. “She doesn’t talk about ‘er much.” He vaguely registers that he’s talking about you in the present tense. What’s correct, present or past? Both feel wrong.

His response is something between a huff and a chuckle. It’s lighthearted either way. “That so? They’re two birds of a feather.” It’s some sort of solace that the older man silently goes along and agrees with him. There’s no need to talk about the missing and dead like they’re gone. Not yet. “Always running around, causing mayhem and making sure everyone appreciates it in the end.”

The sun peaks in through the clouds and windows and glints off a picture frame by the couch. A little girl and a young woman are standing in their garden. (The same one that sits, overgrown and ignored behind this very house) Your mother is snipping away at tomato plants, tossing pruned vines away into a basket and not paying attention to the photographer. You’re waving excitedly and have lined up all your dolls and stuffed animals.

“She only does it if she cares about ya’, she’s gotta consider you family before she even thinks about steerin’ her typhoon yer way.” He muses. “Though, it doesn’t take much for her.”

“If she treats too many people like family, it’s because she always wanted a gaggle of siblings.”

He almost mentions how funny that is. _‘Well, she’s moved on from brothers ‘n sisters. Now she wants an entire army of kids.’_ He doesn’t. Talking about baby making with his father in law, especially without you around, is awkward.

Instead, “D’ya think [y/n] is okay?” Because that’s what he’s really worried about. He’s worked through the denial and can’t bring himself to be truly angry, but the nagging thought is sitting in his head, right at the front. All day. Every day. 

Taro whines at your name, finally showing some emotion and thumping his head on the ground. He probably misses you.

Atsumu just stares, wondering if coming here was a good idea. Your father doesn’t answer and looks like he has no plans to.

“Are ya’ sure you want me to take him?” He asks, pointing down.

“Oh, yes.” He shoots back, like he hadn’t just ignored the previous question. “I’m much too old to care for him. He’s got energy that I just don’t have anymore. I’ve got his things packed over here, in the kitchen.” Atsumu follows where he’s led and picks up the box of rope toys, food and treats, and other random items.

“N’you’ll be alright here, by yourself?”

He gives him a weak clap on the back. “Yes, yes. I’ve got the mahjong club to keep me company.”

They exchange other pleasantries and Atsumu lets himself out, balancing the box on one arm and opening the front door with the other. It’s originally thrown in the front, but Taro just stares at him blankly. _‘Why is the luggage in my seat?’_

“Thought ya’ would’ve liked ta stretch out in the back.” He explains, moving it to the back and letting the dog hop in the passenger seat of his car.

As he drives over the bridge connecting Awaji to the mainland, he thinks back to what your father had said about you and your mother. Causing mayhem because you cared. Did it hold any merit now? He can’t imagine ever thanking you for making him feel like this, heart empty and lungs threatening to suffocate him at every moment.

— — —

Suna plops down on his couch. The one you’ve been occupying for the past two weeks.

“Let’s talk.” He says, clicking the TV off.

You sink further into the furniture and bring the weighted blanket even further up. Only your eyes and bedhead are visible and it makes for a frightening scene.

“Will you just tell me what’s going on? You show up at my door, no warning. Beg me to keep quiet about you being here, which I have, thank you very much. Plus, you’re eating all the food in my fridge and I can’t get laid with you here.”

“I’m sorry.” You whimper, voice muffled from your hiding spot. 

_‘Ahh, shit.’_ He made you cry. “I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m just worried. What happened? Did you have a fight with Atsumu?”

“Yeah.” You lied. “We’re done this time.” You explained, shifting to lean on his shoulder.

He was skeptical about that. “C’mon, you two have fought before. Stop being dramatic. Stop hiding, go home, and apologize to each other.”

You glared. This conversation was becoming bothersome. Why couldn’t Suna just mind his own business? He’d done so in high school. (Barring every bit he posted on his Snapchat story and Atsumu-hate accounts on Twitter) Why was he getting involved now? That was your job— Oh. You weren’t fulfilling your assigned role as harbinger of havoc, so he was subbing in.

Asshole. He should learn his place.

“I’m serious, Rintarou.” You tossed a leg over him and let the blanket crumple to the floor. “I’m done with him.” Not overthinking it, you connected yourself to him, moving your lips against his and rolling yourself on top of him. His skin was freezing cold. Especially his hands on your wrists when he wrenched you away.

“What are you doing?” A little angry and a little breathless, he stared at you, firm in his grip and desire for an answer. You ground your hips into his. “Stop that.” He growled through grit teeth. He made the executive decision to drop your hands and forcibly halt the rocking of your hips. You just wound them back around his neck and whispered in his ear.

 _“I know you’ve wanted to fuck me since high school.”_ At least you were pretty sure he did.

Without warning he jerked up and tossed you across the couch like a sack of potatoes. “That’s it. I’m calling Atsumu.” He muttered.

You blinked. Had he really just thrown you? The blood rushing to your head made you dizzy and you fumbled when you stood up too fast. What had he said, just now?

“So, listen, first of all, please know that she begged me not to tell you she was here.”

Oh shit. “Suna, what the hell? Hang up!” He wasn’t listening.

“I know you guys are mad at each other or whatever, but could you come pick her up?”

Your arm shot out to snatch the phone but he just turned his back to you. Stupid athlete reflexes.

“I think it’s kind of obvious I’m talking about your wife, dumbass. [y/n], remember her?”

You sprang onto his back and snaked your arm across his neck. This brought back memories. You hadn’t attacked someone like this since Kurosu put you in charge of the boys at the Qualifiers Tournament from Hell. What a trip.

 _“[y/n]!”_ He choked, trying to pry you off with his free hand. Before he could lean forward and relieve the pressure you threw your weight back and let the both of you topple to the floor. Your head cracked against the kitchen tile and his skull thudded painfully against your chin and lip, but still, you didn’t give. Helplessly, he slapped his hand on the floor, a silent cry of uncle. Strong thighs dug into the ground, but his socks failed to get a grip on the floor. Finally, after more than thirty long seconds of cinching the blood flow, the phone slipped from his hand and he went limp. Honestly, it was harder to shove his dead weight off you than it was to choke him out. When had he gotten so bulky?

Atsumu’s voice crackled through the phone, barely audible since it wasn’t on speaker. You wiped your split lip and hung up.

— — — 

With one hand on the steering wheel and another swiping around on the bluetooth system, he dictates out a number to Siri.

“Hello?”

“I’m calling for an Arata-san. Is he there?”

“This is _she._ ”

He stiffens. “Oh. M’bad. Detective Kano gave me your info. He said you might be able to help me.”

“I might, what’s the case?”

He swallows the lump in his throat that shows up every time he mentions your situation. “It’s my wife. She’s missing.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that, you must be really worried.” The tone is completely perfunctory, and that assures any doubts he has. He was almost afraid for a second that the detective had sent him to a therapist instead of a P.I. “I’ll get Kano to send me the case file. What’s the name?”

“Miya. Her name is [y/n] and I’m Atsumu.” He rattles off. He can hear a pen scratching in the background.

“Ohh. Celebrity case? You’re that pro-athlete, aren’t you?”

He hums an agreement. 

“I’ll make sure to keep your case under wraps then.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll talk to you later then, when I’ve caught myself up on all the information.” Without any other goodbye’s, the woman hangs up. 

The next twenty three minutes are spent driving in silence, apart from Taro’s occasional desire to stick his head out the window. Then, the name _Suna Rintarou_ pops up on the car’s display. It’s curious. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten a phone call from his friend in the seven or so years he’s known him. Suna almost exclusively communicates in text messages. Which, even then, are mostly just one word replies and reaction memes.

He taps the screen to accept.

“H—”

“So, listen, first of all,” He shoots off, but Atsumu can’t hear a single word he’s saying because the volume in the car is too low. “Please know that she begged me not to tell you she was here.”

He was already confused. “Wait, slow down, what did ya say?”

_“Suna, what the hell? Hang up!”_

He checks traffic and twists the knob up. Way too much.

“I know you guys are mad at each other or whatever, but could you come pick her up?”

Taro yowls.

“Will ya shut up fer a second while I fix the volume in my damn car?! I don’t even know who you’re talking about!” He twists around a bit more, keeping a steady hand on the wheel.

“I think it’s kind of obvious I’m talking about your wife, dumbass. [y/n], remember her?”

His blood runs cold and he reprocesses everything he’s heard Suna say throughout the fourteen seconds they’ve been on the phone.

 _“[y_ _/_ _n]!_ _”_

There’s a rumbling sound on the other end and an eerie silence, “[y/n]?” a hollow voice fills his car. “[y/n]! Are you there? Just pick up the phone and talk to me! Please, just talk to me!” It goes dead, half a minute later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple notes:   
> -Taro is a japanese akita. This breed is the largest of the native spitz breeds. They’re big, independent, and dominant. They don’t really like other dogs or people, but are very protective of their families and are known to be good with kids, like the St. Bernard, Newfoundland, or Staffordshire terrier. In the flashback last chapter, Taro was a little less than 2 years old, so now, around 7ish years later, he’s about 8. On the older side, but still healthy and spry.  
> \- Is it 100% realistic that [y/n] is able to perform a blood choke on Suna? Obviously, I wrote it in, so I think it is, but in case you’re skeptical, please consider this: Reader is lowkey feral. Definitely was the bruh girl in high school who could kick it with the guys. Keep in mind she thought it was fine to walk around an area that she knew had UXO’s... Idk about y’all but she’s kind of like the girl you knew who was obsessed with sharks instead of horses, could do butterfly knife tricks, etc. She googled how to perform a chokehold and just remembers. It’s not perfect. Suna can’t struggle because he doesn’t wanna hurt her. It takes a good 25 seconds for him to pass out. Perfect holds can do it in 10.   
> AND, in case you’re not convinced, I bribed my brother (who is 6’2 and athletic, unlike me who is a couch potato with minimal krav maga training) to let me try it on him and i was kind of successful!   
> \- Atsumu mentions that your father and you lived in Awaji. This is an island in between the larger main japanese islands of Honshu and Shikoku. Awaji is apart of the Hyogo prefecture and connected to the mainland by the longest suspension bridge in the world. I didn't find it too unbelievable to think that y/n goes to school on the mainland bc I couldn't find any high schools on the map and it only takes about half an hour to commute.
> 
> thank you for reading and comment if you have questions or any scenes that you liked. This is a work in progress and I'd love to know what hits hard


End file.
